


Nine Means of Adoration

by randi2204



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 20:40:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9141403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randi2204/pseuds/randi2204
Summary: "Hands. Cheeks. Eyes. Lips. Neck. Ears. Thighs. Heart. Soul. Ahh! the things I get to savour you with." --Sanober Khan





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JoJo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoJo/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** They belong to MGM, Mirisch, and Trilogy, not me. Woes.

The game was only for small stakes, as most games were in this dust bowl of a town.  There were times when Ezra felt like the games in which he’d participated in San Francisco and St. Louis were a dream, something that had never happened even though he remembered them clearly.

 

Small stakes were fine, though, because even small stakes added up, and the caliber of player meant that he didn’t need to give them his full attention.  Which was all right, since there were other things that drew his attention… and only fair, he reasoned, since apparently he was the subject of Chris’s scrutiny.

 

He knew why Chris was watching him – to make sure that he wasn’t cheating.  So he made a show of it, his most impressive flourishes as he bridged and cut, shuffling the cards with one hand while he sipped his whiskey with the other.  He wasn’t cheating, in fact, and the flashy moves were meant to impress others with his dexterity.  After all, it was what they expected.

 

The thing that Ezra had learned first – and perhaps best – at his mother’s knee was how to play to an audience.  “Find out what they want to see, Ezra,” she had said, “and give them exactly that.  Then, when their guard is down… that’s when you strike.”

 

The irony that she praised him for how well he performed to her command… well, it wasn’t lost on him.

 

Indeed, it became so much a part of his persona that he wondered sometimes if he’d ever be able to stop doing it.  Even with the other six men with whom he’d defended that Indian village, he couldn’t stop himself from doing it, even long after they’d forged different bonds with each other.  Not all the time, anymore, but whenever something felt unavoidably uncomfortable, he found comfort in the familiar, in something his mother had said he’d done well.  He couldn’t understand why the others looked disappointed; he was giving them what they expected to see.

 

It was a long while before he realized that what they _expected_ and what they _wanted_ were two different things.  And when he gave them what they wanted… it was, he decided, perhaps worth peeling back the layers to himself just to see the approval in Chris’s eyes

 

But he had been doing that – giving others just what they expected – for so long that he had forgotten what it was to have something _he_ wanted.  He wanted Chris’s approval, he wanted Chris’s regard… he wanted Chris.

 

He hadn’t been surprised when he’d come to that realization; he’d long since reconciled himself to wanting many things he couldn’t have.

 

He was, however, surprised later that evening when he was accosted on the way to his room.  Chris wrapped a hand around his arm and tugged him away from the stairs, then, without warning, pushed him against the wall.  He stared at Chris, wide-eyed, his mouth working but no words coming out.  _I can’t believe I misread him,_ Ezra thought, and waited, resignation filling him, for the blow.

 

But the blow, when it came, was not what he expected; Chris’s lips descended over his own in a kiss that was a bit hesitant, strangely at odds with the way Chris pressed him firmly against the wall, as if he thought Ezra would try to get away.  Instead, Ezra shivered, the fear and resignation dissipating as he kissed back.

 

Chris’s hands rose up to frame his face, sliding into his hair, gently holding his head still for the kiss.  Ezra wound his fingers into the fabric of Chris’s shirt, keeping him from backing away when they broke for a desperately needed gasp of air.

 

“You… I…” Ezra managed, panting.

 

Chris grinned, his eyes dark, his fingers still buried in Ezra’s hair.  “Quite a feat,” he teased breathlessly, “to have made you speechless.”  Ezra felt his thumbs sweep across his cheeks and closed his eyes to savor the sensation.  When he opened them again, Chris’s grin had faded to a quirk of his lips, but he hadn’t drawn back.

 

“Would you care to… take this to a more private venue?” Ezra asked.  He realized that he still held Chris’s shirt, and slowly relaxed his grip, though he still let his hands rest lightly on Chris’s hips.  Suddenly, he couldn’t bear to not touch him.

 

“Yeah,” Chris replied.  He pulled away, so gradually that Ezra thought he must feel the same way.  Then he caught Ezra’s hand and tugged him up the stairs, smirking back at him over his shoulder.

 

Afterwards, as Chris was falling asleep, spooned up behind him, Ezra traced the outline of Chris’s hand where it lay against his side.  Chris hummed against his shoulder, and his fingers twitched under Ezra’s touch.  Ezra stilled his roving fingers, let his hand rest on Chris’s.  That light pressure seemed to be enough to let Chris slide into sleep.

 

Though slumber pulled at him as well, Ezra fought it, just for the sake of enjoying this… situation a short while longer, and, of course, to wonder what had prompted Chris to display his interest so… aggressively.

 

_Did I, somehow, give the impression that such attentions might be welcome?_ he asked himself, and the very idea was a little sobering.  _If I_ have _, somehow, that is dangerous behavior…_   While Ezra was lost in thought, of their own accord, his fingers brushed lightly over the veined back of Chris’s hand.  Chris muttered something into the back of his shoulder and moved his hand so that it pressed against Ezra’s stomach.  Then he seemed to fall back into a deeper slumber.

 

_Hands,_ Ezra thought suddenly, and recalled how he’d been… well, showing off was the most correct term.  _I suppose I must have been puttin’ my skills on display so Chris could see them, as much as for the gentlemen I was playin’ with,_ he allowed, feeling his cheeks heat.  _Well, Ezra, you’ve been a bit foolish, haven’t you, to not have recognized this earlier?_

 

All the time Chris had been watching him, he’d been watching Chris, too. What he had failed to take into account was the effect that Chris’s hands had on _him_ – the way he could gentle a horse with just a word and a touch, the way his work-callused fingers gripped a gun or a shot glass, the veined backs of his hands, tanned and strong.

 

Now, though, there were other things about Chris’s hands that he could appreciate, such as the way they felt against his cheek, or sliding against his own fingers.  How it felt when Chris wrapped his fingers around his arm, his hip.  How simple it was for Chris to wring pleasure from him with the merest touch of his hand.

 

It was, he decided, only fair that Chris be as fascinated by his touch as he was by Chris’s.

 

***

Chris’s face was tanned golden from the sun and the wind, and that meant his fair whiskers were nearly invisible until he’d forgone shaving for a couple of days or more.  Ezra could feel them, however, prickling against his fingers, scraping against his face as they kissed, rough on his shoulder when Chris curled up around him.

 

It wasn’t better, or worse, than when Chris was freshly-shaven; it simply _was_ , and he relished both in their differences.  While he was fastidious about his own toilette, he couldn’t bring himself to mind Chris’s.  Chris rarely came to his bed other than freshly washed, but Ezra knew that it would matter little if it were otherwise, as long as Chris were _there_.

 

It was not a little surprising to discover that, and even more so to realize that it had happened so quickly – that he welcomed Chris’s presence in his room, in his bed, so readily, even eagerly.  But Ezra considered himself a practical man, and the only thing to do was simply to enjoy this delightful interlude while it lasted.  _Chris will someday wish to settle down with a woman,_ he cautioned himself.  _And as pleasant as this is, it cannot last that long.  This is probably little more than a novelty to him, and his interest will wane soon enough._

 

And if he chose not to dwell on that thought, well, that was simply being practical as well, the better to enjoy what he had while he had it.

 

Still, he couldn’t deny the helplessly warm feeling that rose in his chest when Chris slipped into his room, cheeks reddened from the scrape of a razor, or how it seemed to intensify when Chris smiled at him and shrugged out of his coat. 

 

And despite the enthralling view of Chris disrobing, he could not help but ask himself how much longer this heady sight would be afforded him – a year? More? Less?  _And what,_ he wondered, _will I do when he’s moved on?_

 

“You’re a hundred miles away.”

 

Startled from his reverie, Ezra blinked and discovered Chris lying next to him on the bed, head propped up on one hand, long limbs pale gold against his linens.  He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Chris said, “You’re not gettin’ bored with me already, are you?”

 

His tone was teasing, but there was an underpinning of what, in anyone else, Ezra would have called _doubt_.  “Indeed not,” he replied.  “There are still a great many things to learn about you.”

 

“Yeah?” Chris’s eyes raked over him.  “And what kinds of things should I learn about you?”

 

“Anything you want.”  He’d meant it to be a flip answer, but when he spoke, his voice was _sincere_ , and he realized that he was in earnest.  For the first time in years, he blushed.

 

Chris smiled and hitched himself up so he was braced on one hand, his nose almost brushing the side of Ezra’s face.  He trailed his fingers over Ezra’s flushed cheek, smiling.  “Love it when you get all flustered,” he murmured, and leaned in to kiss him.

 

***

As snakes’ were said to do, Chris’s eyes mesmerized him with their changes; not only in color – from green to dark and back again – but also with his mood.  They danced when he was amused, sparked fire when he was angry, burned with despair and guilt when he remembered.

 

Ezra thought that perhaps, lately, he remembered less often. He hoped that could be put down to _him_ , but doubted his own… ability in that regard.

 

He had, therefore, decided that it might be best to avoid Chris altogether on this particular anniversary.  Given Chris’s wild behavior in previous years, it seemed likely that one or both of them would end up sporting colorful bruises and dark resentment.

 

Having taken that decision, he was surprised – perhaps even shocked – to discover Chris outside his door that evening; not entirely sober, but not entirely inebriated, either.  It was Chris’s expression, though, that made Ezra’s throat close, bottling up any words he might have said; a combination of despair and a sort of hope that was dreadful to see, because he knew he couldn’t live up to it, and yet he knew he would try, because he _wanted_ to be able to.

 

Silently, he beckoned Chris inside, then weathered the disappointment in his eyes to disrobe him and settle him under the quilt, before removing his own clothing.  He climbed in beside Chris, turned the lamp low, and lay there at a loss, not sure of what he should do next.  After what felt like too long, he spooned up against Chris’s stiff back, draped his arm over Chris’s side, pressed a single kiss to his shoulder, then just rested his forehead there, silently cursing his own failings.

 

Slowly, Chris relaxed at his touch, leaned back into his body.  Ezra tightened his arm around him, staying silent, just waiting.  Before too long, Chris’s breathing deepened into the rhythm of sleep.

 

Ezra lay awake for a long time afterwards, staring into the darkness, not quite sure what he had done, but hoping that he had finally done something _right_.

 

He awoke when Chris touched his face, and blinked at how bright the room was; morning had apparently come at last.  Chris’s thumb lingered on his cheek, sweeping lightly beneath his eye.  “Mornin’,” he rasped, his voice still rough from slumber.

 

“Mornin’,” Chris replied, his eyes dark and solemn.  “Sorry I bothered you last night.”

 

Ezra folded his hand around Chris’s where it lay on his cheek.  “I assure you,” he said, his accent laying heavily over his words, “you are no bother.”

 

As he watched, Chris’s lips curved into a tiny smile.  Best of all, though, it reached his eyes, causing them to glow in a way that put the sunrise to shame.

 

***

Ezra had never had a great fondness for kissing; he had always thought there were other, better things to do with one’s mouth.  But there was very little that Chris seemed to enjoy so much as long lazy kisses, the kind that incited a slow burn of arousal that could simmer for hours.

 

If there was something Ezra understood, it was anticipation; all of his time spent at the poker table, parlaying his skills in order to spin out games and make them last, had taught him to enjoy delayed gratification.  It was, he discovered, fine practice for those times when Chris wanted only to kiss, and kiss, and kiss.

 

Having all of Chris’s considerable focus was almost overwhelming at times, but Ezra relished it, because it was also intoxicating.  And to have all that attention on him, he learned first to tolerate, and then delight in Chris’s desire for kisses.

 

What he liked best, though, was when Chris pulled away for air, because he could _see_ what their kisses had wrought – lips shiny and puffy, their color darker, almost as if they were bruised from so many kisses.  Better still, Chris dragged a finger over Ezra’s mouth, and he could _feel_ that his lips were in the same state, tender and tingling and ready for still more.

 

_Perhaps_ , he thought, as Chris bent to kiss him again, _there is something to be said for it after all…_

 

***

Chris rarely wore a bandanna around his neck; not for him the giant squares of gaily colored cloth that Buck wore.  As was proper – and sensible, in this dry dusty land where they resided – he wore his shirts buttoned to the collar and cuffs, but nothing about his neck.

 

In that haze between satiety and sleep, Ezra wondered if there were any inducements he could offer to get Chris to wear one of his cravats.  _There must be something,_ he thought, drowsily running his fingers over Chris’s collarbone.  _He would be quite a dashing sight in a fine shirt and cravat and jacket…_

 

Chris batted lightly at his hand, half-asleep himself.  “Stop that, it tickles,” he grumbled, taking Ezra’s hand and holding it without opening his eyes.

 

Ezra smiled into Chris’s shoulder, wiggling his fingers in Chris’s grasp just to be contrary, though he made no move to truly get away.  He was too intrigued with the idea he had conjured of Chris in clothes like his own, finery of the sort that Chris seemed to eschew.

 

Chris did, however, seem to take great delight in removing Ezra’s neatly tied cravats, his thin ties, and flinging them carelessly away (only to be discovered much later in dire need of pressing). As soon as he had exposed Ezra’s neck, he leaned in to kiss it, gently scraping his teeth along the vein in his throat, unerringly finding the spot that, lightly bitten, turned Ezra’s knees to water.

 

Though Ezra made a few attempts to convince Chris to dress in the manner he did – or even to try on Ezra’s own clothes, though they would not fit quite properly – they were half-hearted at best, and he could not understand why.

 

He realized the answer to that one day when the winds were strong and the dust thick in the air.  Chris had been out at his cabin, trapped there, perhaps, by the dust storm, and Ezra had resigned himself to his absence until the wind subsided and the clouds of dust properly grounded once more.

 

He was passing the interminable time in the saloon, watching dust devils whirl down the street, when a familiar figure pushed through the swinging doors and pulled down the cloth wrapped around his face.

 

“Chris?” he blurted, and watched as Chris’s face split into a grin.  The lower half of his face was relatively clean, but the upper half was so coated with dirt that it had taken on a distinctly brown cast.  He stepped over to Ezra’s table, the jingle of his spurs muted.  _Caked with dirt, I imagine,_ Ezra thought distantly, surprised that Chris was in town at all.

 

Chris leaned down, bracing his hands on the table, raining dust on the cards, but Ezra barely even noticed.  “I could really use a bath.”

 

Ezra swallowed at Chris’s tone; it was low, suggestive, and he was accustomed to respond to that in a very certain way.  “Indeed you could,” he managed, absently flicking the dust from his cards.

 

Chris’s grin widened.  “Thing is, there’s a line for a tub at the bath house.  You reckon I could at least wash up in your room? Miz Morgan is doing laundry at the boarding house.  She’s got the tub there filled up with bedsheets, trying to get ‘em white again.”

 

Immediately, his mind filled with images of Chris half-dressed and damp, rubbing a soapy washcloth across the back of his neck, and all Ezra could do was agree.  “I shall bring up an extra pitcher,” he said, mouth dry.

 

Chris shook the dirt from his coat and his hair as much as he could before they headed upstairs.  Once they were in Ezra’s room, he examined his shirt, then took it off and left it in a filthy heap in the corner.  “The shirt I brought with me got dirty even in my saddlebag,” he said, tipping some water into the basin as Ezra got out his soap and washcloth.  “I left it with Miz Morgan, since she was laundering anyway.   Since I’m borrowing your room and your soap, can I borrow a shirt, too?”

 

Ezra closed his eyes, searching himself for the strength to resist temptation and knowing himself unequal to that task.  _Surely,_ he thought, _surely this is just one of his teases…_   But he said, “Of course,” and pulled a shirt from his closet – plain and white, but made of silk.  Then, because even if he didn’t know what the boundaries here were, he just had to push them, he rifled through his cravats, pulled out one in a somber dark green, and laid it with the shirt on the bed.

 

He sat in his chair facing the window, feet up on a low stool, shuffling and bridging his cards and listening to the splash of water as Chris washed.  Even after the plash of water stopped, he didn’t turn around, unsure if he was actually prepared to see what he might see.  It wasn’t until Chris said, “Aren’t you curious?” that he tucked his cards away and dared look.

 

The shirt he’d selected for Chris to wear was one with which he’d normally have to wear sleeve garters, but the cuffs fell to Chris’s wrists perfectly, as if it had been made with Chris in mind.  Ezra felt his mouth go dry at the sight, but that didn’t stop his eyes from roving hungrily over Chris, memorizing how he looked.

 

It was the cravat, though, that kept drawing his gaze.  It was almost perfectly knotted, certainly looking very respectable.  Chris had even found a pin on the dresser; the golden head peeked out of the cravat’s folds.

 

But that wasn’t the reason why he stared, nor was it that the cravat didn’t suit Chris, for it did quite well; no, it was because it was tied around Chris’s throat, in a spot where Ezra had never seen anything but the collar of a shirt lying flat.  Too much of Chris’s neck was covered, he decided with some surprise; he’d never considered just how used he was to seeing the column of his throat until it was hidden by folds of cloth.

 

Chris watched him, eyes glittering, as much at ease in Ezra’s borrowed shirt as he would be in his own plainer one.  “All right?” he asked, a devilish grin twitching at the corner of his mouth.

 

Ezra swallowed.  “Very much so,” he managed at last.  Somehow, speaking the words freed him to move, and he crossed to Chris.  Then, when Chris’s smirk threatened to become full-blown, he reached up to remove the pin and tug the cravat from around his neck.  It came free with a whisper of silk on silk.

 

Chris shivered as the cravat came free, but didn’t look away from Ezra.  “Thought it was right,” he said – asked, really, Ezra thought, though his voice didn’t change timbre – eyebrows raised.

 

“It was,” Ezra confirmed, and left cloth and pin in a careless pile on the dresser.  “It was also in the way,” he added, and leaned in to drag his tongue over the throb of the pulse in Chris’s throat.  Chris’s sudden intake of breath was loud in his ear, and he grinned into Chris’s skin.

 

_At last,_ he thought, _I understand why Chris is so… impatient with my clothing._

 

***

Quite by chance, Ezra discovered that a breath blown lightly into Chris’s ear made Chris shudder and gasp. A nip at his lobe, a swirl of tongue around the whorls of his ear, and Chris strained against him, fingers digging into his hips with bruising force as he tried to pull Ezra even closer, harder, _more_.

 

However, it wasn’t that spot behind his own ear that made Ezra come undone when Chris found it; rather, it was the unbelievable things that Chris whispered _in_ his ear, words said in the heat of passion and perhaps lightly meant, but powerful nonetheless.

 

***

Long and lean, Chris’s legs seemed to go on forever, encased in those sinfully snug trousers. His legs were paler than the rest of his body when the trousers came off, but he was still golden against Ezra’s so-white linens.  Ezra trailed a hand down Chris’s back, over his derrière, then along the length of his thighs.  They were lightly furred and strong, the muscles well-developed from all his time horseback.

 

But perhaps the thing Ezra most liked to see was when they parted for him.  Chris gave him a lazy grin over his shoulder, then shifted a little, drawing up his top leg just enough to let Ezra slip his hand between his thighs and stroke his most secret places.  At his touch, Chris let out a soft breath and closed his eyes, arching his body slightly to press his backside more firmly against Ezra, hiking his leg even higher.

 

He had learned how to touch Chris, both to prolong their combined pleasure and to drive them each to climax. After they had both spent, he lay behind Chris for a long moment, enjoying the tremors that worked through his body, the quivering of his muscles as they struggled to calm their breathing.  With great reluctance, Ezra peeled himself away from Chris to dampen a cloth and clean the seed from Chris’s belly, from between his thighs, from his own self.

 

When he climbed back into bed, Chris flopped over to face him and arranged them both so they were a comfortable tangle of limbs.  When he woke in the morning, he found Chris’s leg had insinuated itself between his own, Chris’s hands on his backside urging him to rock back and forth against his thigh.

 

“Ready to ride?” Chris murmured, his hands tightening on Ezra’s buttocks.

 

Ezra reached between them to wrap his hand around Chris’s manhood where it prodded his belly.  “You, sir,” he panted, “are insatiable.”

 

“Yeah,” Chris breathed, and, muddled by arousal, Ezra couldn’t decide if that was agreement or encouragement, but then it didn’t matter.

 

***

Sooner than he’d ever expected, the very sight of Chris made Ezra’s heart beat faster. At the sight of Chris in his bed, it thumped so hard, so fast, he thought it might burst right out of his chest.

 

He wondered, though – because he couldn’t help himself – if it was only him.  The fondly exasperated looks Chris on occasion shot him gave him hope that, if nothing else, Chris held some affection for him, as perhaps befitted the one who was his bedmate.  But Ezra could barely plumb the depths of his own feelings – overwhelming and strange, and frightening for it, for they made him forget all the things he thought he knew; he couldn’t begin to guess the state of Chris’s.

 

And the heady, seductive words that Chris murmured to him late at night… well, one could not very well hold a man to things said at a moment such as that.

 

***

It shocked Ezra one night to realize that _years_ had passed.  _Years_ , and he had barely noticed how they’d sped by.  There was a hint of silver in Buck’s hair, in Nathan’s, and Josiah’s face seemed to grow more and more craggy.

 

The crow’s-feet around Chris’s eyes were more pronounced, too, but they were now as much from amusement as from staring off into the distance, and there was an air of… contentment around him, something that had crept up on him – had crept up on _both_ of them, for Ezra could feel it, too.  It was strange and unexpected.

 

It was completely centered on the man who lay next to him in bed, and Ezra raised himself on his elbow to better contemplate Chris’s slumbering form, his lips curling up at the crease puckering Chris’s brow as his movement jostled Chris’s arm where it lay over his side.  If he looked closely, he knew he would see the marks of age on Chris’s body, but at the same time, it was like no time had passed.  _No,_ he realized, _I_ feel _like no time has passed, that this… that having him in my bed is still as new and exciting as the first time._ He frowned slightly; that wasn’t quite right, either. _Not the first time, the_ second _time… because he came back._

 

He trailed his hand across Chris’s side, his heart beating harder as he did, for there were still times that he was nothing short of amazed that his touch was welcomed, perhaps even sought after.  Chris, still asleep, hummed into his pillow at the touch, used the arm slung over Ezra’s side to pull him closer. 

 

Once, he had longed only to work out the 30 days Judge Travis had demanded and then be off for more lucrative climes.  Now... _now_ , he reflected, _I can’t imagine a life elsewhere, certainly not if Chris isn’t there with me._

 

Was it possible, he wondered, running his fingers lightly across a scar on Chris’s arm, to knit one’s soul so closely to another’s and not be aware of it?

 

There had been no clear statement of intent between them, no vows, however unrecognized they would be.  But through these years they had shared their lives more completely than he could ever have imagined – in fact, what he and Chris had was something he had never imagined could even _exist_ , much less that he could _have_ it.  And having it, _knowing_ he had it… it made him feel strange, it made him feel _happy_ in a way that all his winnings never had.

 

Even so there was still something that weighed on him, something that made him believe that there was something… lacking.

 

He had long wanted to repeat back to Chris the words Chris whispered in his ear, but had never had the courage.  He had felt it, though; this quivering, aching, yearning, fulfilling feeling that seemed to overflow his body was not truly new.

 

_It is long past time,_ Ezra thought.  The simple action of making the decision was calming, and he laid back down under Chris’s arm.   Before he could fully debate the merits and drawbacks of waking Chris, he fell asleep.

 

Chris had already departed when he awoke in the morning, as often happened.  They had a few quiet moments during the day, but this, Ezra knew, was not something they wanted to speak of in public.  That evening, with the excuse that due to the lack of the stage there were no new pockets to be lightened, he retired to his room, knowing that sooner or later, Chris would join him.

 

It turned out to be _later_ , and the intervening time gave Ezra the chance to work himself into a fine state of nerves.

 

“Ezra?” Chris called, his voice pitched low. 

 

Lost in his thoughts, Ezra still jumped at the sound.  A bit of tension ran out of him as he recognized Chris’s voice.

 

“Something wrong?” Chris asked, locking the door behind him, and tossing his coat on the chair.  “You’ve been kinda high-strung all day.”

 

He sank onto the bed, stared up at Chris’s worried expression, mouth pinched in worry.  “No,” he managed, “nothin’s wrong.  I did, however, come to a realization last night, and wanted to share it with you.”

 

“Did you now?” Chris sat down next to him, close enough their legs touched, their shoulders bumped.  “What was it?”

 

Ezra cleared his throat softly.  “It is, I fear, unconscionably late on my part, but… I must tell you that the lack of reciprocation on my part was most assuredly _not_ due to a lack of feeling... Oh, hell,” he muttered, “Ah’m sayin’ it all wrong.”  He took a breath.  “Chris, I—”

 

Chris covered his mouth with one hand and stopped the most important words.  “I know, Ezra,” he said quietly.  “I’ve known since the beginning, almost.” He smiled, eyes glittering in the light of the lamp, and took his hand away.  “I don’t need to hear it to know how you feel.”

 

Ezra stared at him.  “You… know.”

 

Chris nodded solemnly, but the light in his eyes gave him away.

 

He sagged, and Chris’s arm came around his shoulders, pulling him close against his body.  “Am I so transparent?”

 

Chris tightened his arm.  “No, I reckon not.  For a while, I told myself I was only seeing what I wanted to see.  But then I had a revelation myself – that it was real, that what I thought I was seeing was really how you felt.” Ezra heard the smile in Chris’s voice.  “But it took a while.”

 

Ezra leaned more solidly into him.  “How did you know?”

 

“The way you touch me, the way your eyes light up when you see me, shinin’ like the sun’s behind them… the way I can feel your heart beat faster.”  Chris’s voice went soft.  “Lots of ways, Ezra, and all of ‘em added up to one thing.”

 

It was a fine thing to have what he thought was his big confession rendered… not useless perhaps, but unnecessary.  At the same time, though, Ezra couldn’t feel that sense of… incompleteness that had prompted this in the first place.

 

“Just because I don’t _need_ to hear it doesn’t mean I don’t _want_ to,” Chris said, prodding him gently and grinning.

 

Ezra twisted in Chris’s embrace, buried his face against Chris’s neck and murmured the words into his warm skin.  But he knew Chris heard them, felt them, _knew_ them, from the way his arms tightened, drawing Ezra closer, from the way he whispered them back, a breath in his ear that reached all the way to his soul.

 

***

December 18, 2016

**Author's Note:**

> A fill (and finished just in time for Christmas!) for JoJo's prompt [here](http://mag7daybook.dreamwidth.org/462728.html?thread=4331912#cmt4331912), which is the quote used as summary.


End file.
